I Will Always Be Here
by ProfessionalMuse
Summary: Set immediately after the events of X-Men Legacy # 253, Charles Xavier stuggles to find a way to accept that Scott, whom he loves like a son, ordered Magneto to kill Legion.


**I Will Always Be Here**

_**I don't own them. Marvel and Disney do. No sue, no sue.**_

_On the issue of time and ages, Marvel keeps forgetting Kitty's age when Luna was born, and the ages of the other second generation X-Men (old New Mutants) in regard to that. That would give them a guideline for continuity they seem to desperately need. _

_In a nutshell, Kitty joined the X-Men when she was 14 and Scott and the others were a decade older or thereabouts than her. Luna was born when she was 15. If Luna was 6 during M-Day then Kitty would have been 21 and Scott (and Beast and Bobby) would have been approximately 31. There's been a minimum of 2-3 years since M-Day in comic events (and time stated) since then, so Kitty would be about 23 or 24 now. Rogue (who was stated to be 18 when Kitty was 15) would be about 28 or 29, with Peter Rasputin close to the same. Luna should be 8-9 years old now. David Haller, who was 19 when Luna was born, would be 27 or 28 (although his time traveling and adventures in Limbo mean he is probably younger, which might explain why everyone in Marvel who is not his father or Magneto keeps calling him "boy" and "child" even though he's older than Kitty!). And there would be about 18 years since Xavier first took in Scott. Marvel will probably contradict this, but they would be idiots. (Oh, wait. I forgot AvX. Guess I would be stating the obvious, right?) _

_The story is set immediately following the events of X-Men Legacy #253 and helps to explain the sudden departure of Charles and Legion. I wanted to make Scott the villain of the piece, or alternatively to cast Charles in that role. Neither one wanted to cooperate with me For the purpose of the story, italics indicate either telepathy, a thought or a memory. In other words, 'tis happening in Chuck's head._

**I Will Always Be Here**

I have always loved children. Even as a boy, I was happiest in the company of other youngsters, something my mother considered an outgrowth of my being an only child. As an adult, I know the lion's share of this trait should actually be credited to my telepathy. The mind of a child is filled with enthusiasm for the new discoveries each day brings and I find myself infected with it as well. Simply put, I cannot be truly unhappy when a youngster is about the place.

By rights, I suppose I should have fathered a house filled with them. It was my original intention. Moria and I discussed it frequently when we were to be married. She always met my request for a half dozen children with laughter slightly tinted by horror. "For heaven's sake, Charles," she'd say "they're naught pastries, y'know."

Gabrielle and I never discussed a future. My guilt at engaging in a relationship with someone I saw as a patient, despite my lack of medical credentials at the time, rendered me silent on this point. I never asked if she wanted children, nor considered the point, continuing to insist on condoms long after she protested they were unnecessary. Except, of course, for that one time, when we were both a bit too tipsy to notice. Had the evening's events remained clearly in my mind, I would like to think I would have been a bit more insistent on keeping in touch with her, once I left Israel.

My accident removed the issue from further consideration. I was not paralyzed as many of my students would later assume. It might have been better if I were, since that would have brought a blessed relief from pain. No, my legs were shattered beyond all hope of repair. Sitting placed a constant, painful pressure on them. Standing was out of the question as the nigh pulverized bone and torn muscle would never have supported me. Romantic misadventures, while still possible, had to be very carefully done indeed. Every specialist I visited pronounced the same prognosis; constant pain, frequent agony and a decreased fertility the longer I remained in a chair. The doctors also warned I would eventually become addicted to the pain medication my condition required. These pronouncements equaled the same truth, that I would never be a father.

I mourned the loss of this possibility long after I had accepted the difficulties and little humiliations of life in a wheelchair. For years, I would painstakingly read any article in a medical or quasi-medical publication regarding the fertility of the long-term wheelchair-bound. Amelia had first mistaken this zeal for doubts on the issue of my virility and assumed her displays of attraction to me would one day assuage them. She'd been wrong, of course, both as to the cause and the cure. When she'd realized taking a painfully thin and self-conscious teenage boy into my home had been all I needed to find the peace which had eluded me, Amelia had left, not content to compete for my affections. (Her words, never mine.)

Scott seemed such a small creature to arouse such jealousy in those days, all elbows and knees. For months, he clung to the shadows along the walls of the house as if afraid I might one day notice him fully and decide to send him back to the hell from which he'd escaped. Nothing could have been further from my mind. At the time I might not have known the full truth of his suffering at Sinister's hands while living at the orphanage, but I did know if a boy was willing to live, cold and hungry, on the streets and accept being victimized as an alternative, more than mere loneliness must have driven him from the place. He would never speak of what he'd endured, but enough came through his nightmares to make me vow I would accept death before I gave this child back to those who'd harmed him.

My lawyers advised against keeping him. Had Amelia and I married and had we still been together, well, adoptions across state lines were difficult but not entirely impossible. I, however, was a never married man, then approaching fifty years of age, seeking to adopt a boy approaching sixteen, to whom I was neither related nor connected by a previous relationship. Add to that, I was disabled, on continuous pain medication – although my telepathy did allow me to take far lower doses than prescribed as well as ensuring no addiction arose – and seemed far too willing to declare this young stranger the heir to my sizable family fortune. Questions naturally arose regarding my fitness, my intentions, even my sexuality. I endured countless intrusive home visits and more than a few court ordered psychiatric evaluations. My determination never wavered.

At some point during the proceedings, Scott became aware I seeking to adopt him. I can still remember him, sitting stock-still in my office after the most recent social worker had updated the case file. "You…you want me?" he'd finally murmured after I asked once more if he were alright. "As in to keep me?" He looked around the room as though he expected someone might overhear what he said and snap all possibility of it being true from his words.

I still wish I had hugged him immediately. But Scott disliked being touched and I knew if I saw him flinch, my composure would be entirely lost. "Of course, son," I said gently.

He began shaking slightly. "Son?" he said quietly. "Not student." The trembling seemed to increase, and his voice was little more than a barely audible squeak. "Do you mean it, sir?"

My mother passed before I was twelve and my step-father shortly thereafter. I understood what family meant to a child. My throat closed at the memory of the pain of their loss and I could not speak to answer him. His thoughts battered at the barriers I routinely erected. _Please want me, please want me, just please want me._ As if there were any way in heaven, hell, or the lands which lie between that I could do anything but want him, this poor child desperate to find someone to whom he could belong. I came to his chair, pulled him into my arms and held him as he cried.

"This is your home," I promised. "And I will be here whenever you need me."

In the nearly twenty years since that day, I have often thought back to my promise. It seemed such a small thing, really, to share my home and life with the boy. Both were large and lonely things, after all, and few others seemed inclined to share them in those days. Scott has enriched me in a way I cannot adequately express. I no longer fear dying alone, a recluse in a rambling old mansion. Scott gave me a reason to carve pumpkins again and to spend weeks in December searching for wreaths, gifts and the perfect Christmas tree. No matter how tense things might become between us as we grow older, we still make a point of talking to each other every few days. I have grandchildren, in a manner of speaking, because of him, and am always touched to receive cards from Rachel or Nathan on my birthdays.

Oh, I worry for Scott, yes, as I suppose every father worries for his son. He returned from hosting Apocalypse voicing a militancy which frightens me. I hear echoes of Magnus in his decisions and orders. His obsession with ensuring what he calls "mutant survival" at all costs seems uncomfortably close to threats of violence against non-mutants. I have tried to talk to him about this, but I am usually rebuffed, occasionally by Scott himself but more often by Emma, and have to remind myself he is no longer my young student conjugating Latin verbs. The boy who once would only answer a question if safely behind the cover of a chair has become a man now, a leader of a community of mutants. If he makes mistakes, all too often they are my fault for only training him as a field-commander when he is meant to be a statesman and a world leader. I should have prepared him better.

The sins of the father coming home to roost, it seems. I never expected he would hurt me like this.

Eric's choice of words told me everything. "I was told to come," he said, his phrasing awkward and lacking his usual dramatic flow. "An explicit order from our Commander and Chief."

Magnus is a Holocaust survivor. Many years ago, he vowed to never again live at the whim of men following orders. This is why as Magneto he chose his own path, rather than following the likes of Apocalypse or others who might have united their strength to his, achieving his goals with far greater ease. Less than two weeks ago, Eric and I had debated the exact nature of Scott's leadership on Utopia over our customary game of chess, with Magnus supporting Scott's decision to appoint himself leader while I expressed a hope he might institute more democratic reforms in the future. For Eric to use a term normally reserved for the President combined with a phrase few survivors would use unless deliberately emphasizing a point told me his meaning as clearly as if he'd allowed me to scan him telepathically. It was a warning.

I am following a direct order from the commander.

_I am just following orders._

Scott had ordered Eric to kill my son, David.

My chest tightened painfully. I had to force the air past my throat to speak. Only later did I realize I was shouting. With no success, I ordered both Eric and Frenzy off the jet. I am far from a fool. My son or not, David does represent a threat to reality itself. If I ever believed, for more than a moment, that he might truly be a danger, I would take care of him myself. He's my child! He deserves to leave the world in considerably less pain that he'd endured within it. I insisted I could handle this, trying to make it sound like I meant the mission to retrieve David's missing personas so I would not worry the boy standing only feet from me.

"We'll deal with this together," Eric had said. He truly meant it. I would not be asked to carry the blame for my son's death alone should it prove to be necessary. Eric would bear it with me. He would act only if no other option presented itself and I would know it was going to happen in advance. It would be quick, painless and done by the hand of a man who loved both of the boy's parents, a man who in another world might even have been David's godfather. I felt oddly grateful to him.

Frenzy was another matter. I was all too aware of the relationship she and Scott had shared in the world David created. While Eric might stay his hand until the last possible moment, she was desperate to recapture the emotion she'd shared with Scott in that alternative reality and might act hastily to prove herself worthy to a man she saw as a former lover. I considered bodily throwing her out when I heard Remy's thoughts.

_Ne vous inquiétez pas__, __Professeur__. __Remy__va la__regarder._

I knew I could trust Remy, had done so with my life in the past. If he would watch Frenzy, that would free me to focus exclusively on David. I could get through this. Except for one painful thought.

_Please want me, please want me._

In my heart, I have two sons. While I will always love David, I do not see him as my heir, as it were. His mental disorder will, in all probability, plague him for life. No, my dreams have always fallen heavily into Scott's hands. Even when he made decisions with which I could not agree, even if we never again share the closeness I felt when I held him in my office all those years ago, he is my true successor, the one for whom I'd hope the most. All that I have is his. I've even left my family estate to him in my will. Wherever he goes, I know I will inevitably follow. For him and him alone, I would compromise my principals, swallow my pride and even give my life.

And he sent my oldest friend to kill David.

I knew when we left Utopia, no matter what the outcome of this mission, I could not return. It would be impossible for me to sit in meetings with Scott, day after day, without thinking of what he'd asked and of whom he'd asked it. Nor would I bring David back. How could he heal in a place where the man who should be his brother would seek his death? This was goodbye, and a quiet one at that.

The mission did not go according to plan. David was nearly killed sacrificing himself to save Rogue. The shock to his nervous system was extensive. The first seizures hit him before I managed to drag us both out of the Parisian catacombs. By the time we reached the surface, I knew he would need medical care. I called his mother and Gabrielle contacted the Israeli embassy. Within minutes, a medical helicopter arrived and whisked us both away to the hospital. It turned out to be the same one where he'd been brought as a ten year old, after the terrorist attack. I sincerely hope to never have to tell him that.

The next few days were a misery. Seizure after seizure wracked David's body and mind. Heavy sedation did nothing to help his pain. There was little else for his mother or me to do but sit at his bedside and pray.

The first phone call came within an hour of David's admission to the hospital. I ignored my cell and let it go to voice mail. It was Scott, wanting to know where we were and why we'd failed to check in as scheduled. I did not trust myself to hear the sound of his voice, not while David's mind flared within my own, trapped in agony. Call after call followed, then text messages until eventually my phone was buzzing every few minutes and I was forced to look at it, if only the choose the silent mode. The most recent text was from Logan.

"damit chuck U OK?"

I replied that I was fine, the mission was over and I would not return.

His response was immediate. "f&ck WHY?"

That brought me the first chuckle I'd enjoyed since seeing Magnus on the jet, wearing his helmet and unable to meet my eyes. Only Wolverine would pay the charges for international texts simply for the pleasure of cursing. Jubilee had "borrowed" his phone shortly after he purchased it and reprogrammed it with a censoring app in an effort to curb this. He'd left the feature on when we'd lost her, unable to entirely let go of his most recent foundling.

"Scott knows why," I typed. "Rest looking for Rachel."

"Kid ok?"

Of all my X-Men, Logan understood instinctively that I would keep David close to me, and not let him leave with the others. He'd failed his son as well, and knew the desperation of needing to make up for that. "Ask me later," I replied.

The calls and text stopped then. Slowly, David's seizures became less and less frequent. The doctors began to speak optimistically. Recovery ceased to be an "if" and became a "when." The damage, they said, was minimal and David would need rest more than anything. Eventually, the sedatives began to work and my boy slept peacefully. I sent Gaby to rest as well, promising to call when he woke. The embassy agent she'd left as my guard changed with the shift and the new man kept asking if I wanted to shower or needed a car to take me to lunch. I ignored him, of course. I had no intention of leaving David again.

When the door opened, I assumed it was the guard, until an arm placed the tray of food on the table beside me. Emma's scans and my own distraction might hide his mind from me, but the watch I recognized. It had been my father's. I'd given it to Scott as a wedding present.

"He said you haven't eaten since yesterday," Scott said softly.

I did not turn around, still not trusting myself to look into his face. "I'll eat something once David is well."

In another situation, his reply might have made me smile. "I think that may be awhile."

I swallowed my anger and hurt as best I could. There was no need to rehash the debate, not with David finally sleeping. Nor did I feel the need to defend the boy to Scott at this moment. With the hospital's security alerted and state of the art cameras sending a constant feed from the room directly to Israeli Defense, he could not risk harming David now. We were outside of his power here.

Scott sighed heavily and I heard him shift his weight to lean against the door. "Would you at least tell me if you are alright?" he asked. "You look like hell."

I was still wearing the shirt and slacks I had on when we left Utopia, oh, three or maybe four days before, although I had lost my jacket somewhere along the way. What sleep I had managed to get was snatched between David's seizures, as comfortable as one can get in a hospital chair. The last time I used the facilities, I'd noticed I was starting to sprout a beard. No doubt I smelled relatively foul as well. But none of these were truly the reason I felt as I did. "The boy I raised asked my best friend to kill my son," I said at last. "How should I look?"

The sudden creak of the door confirmed Scott's flinch. "Magneto told you that?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"He didn't need to," I explained. "I've known him since before you were born."

Several long moments of silence stretched between us, marked only by the sound of David's monitors. My son's face jerked in a dream and I reached out, physically and telepathically, to smooth the covers and to assure him I was still here and he was safe. He settled back gently into a dream as I kept my hand over his. It occurred to me that I'd sat just like this by Scott's side more than once, when illness or nightmares had taken him, and done the same for him. Scott would always wake up the next morning, surprised to find me there, as if he thought I could comfortably pass a night elsewhere when he needed me.

When next he spoke, it was almost in a whisper. 'I did what I had to do, Professor. David is dangerous. Look at what he did to Chamber. I had to think of everyone's safety, not just your feelings."

I was too tired for anger or shouting. "You thought sending a Holocaust survivor to kill the mentally ill son of an Israeli ambassador to the UN would protect anyone?" I said, ever the professor. "I'm afraid you underestimate the mossad."

Even through Emma's shields, I felt his shock. "Is Gabrielle threatening repercussions?" he asked.

My tears broke through at that question. He'd tried to kill David, wanted to use the man who is all but my brother to do it, and all he could think about was whether or not he'd made a diplomatic miscalculation. "How the hell would I know," I snapped, my nerves and composure shattered. "Please, Scott, I just…." My voice trailed off. In truth, I didn't know what to say. Ask him not to kill David? Disown him? Beg his forgiveness for all my many mistakes? A mountain of things had remained unspoken between us of late. It seemed too much to start saying them now that I was so very tired.

His hand squeezed my shoulder. "You sound exhausted," he said. "Please eat, and then get some sleep. We'll talk once David is awake and you both come back to Utopia. Just…come home. No questions asked."

_This is your home. And I will always be here for you._

My entire body was trembling at this point. Perhaps he never saw me shake my head. "No."

The fingers on my shoulder tightened. "I can fix this, Charles," Scott said. "Let me fix this."

_I can learn this, Professor. Just let me stay up and study another hour. I'm not really tired._

_I can get through this. Professor. It's just a cold. _

_How bad can AP English be? I won't let you down._

_I'm ready for this, Professor. Being a dad, I mean. Diapers can't be that bad, right?_

_We're a team, Professor. We'll get through this. I'll find a way._

_We will survive. I'll make sure of it. _

Scott's thoughts flowed through to me then, bypassing any of Emma's handiwork. He'd hurt me and he knew that. It was killing him. All he could think of was how I had come to him in the days after he'd sent his infant son into an unknown future and held him wordlessly as he cried.

_I can fix this._

In truth, there was nothing to fix. I remembered I still had the ultrasound picture Scott gave me of Nathan when Maddie was pregnant. It was in a safety deposit box near my attorneys' offices along with my will, a few childhood photo albums, the judge's custody ruling granting Scott to me, and a few other legal documents, where it would be safe no matter what threat decided to blow up my home this week or how old and cranky Cable grew to be.

"I chose you over him," I said. "All those years ago, on Muir Isle. David had wanted me to stay with him. Moria thought it might be best for both of us if I did. But you were to be a father. And I wanted to see my grandson."

He trembled as well, and his voice sounded nearly as rough as my own. "Have you ever thought maybe you made the wrong choice?" he asked.

I knew the answer without even considering the question. "Never." My free hand found his fingers on my shoulder and I sent out comfort to him telepathically, just as I had when he was a boy.

_I will always be here for you._

We did not need to say anything else. Both of us had made choices in life we wished we could undo. But the choice of each other, well, that defined each of us. It did not need to be undone. When the world shattered either of us, the other would be there to gather and restore the pieces. I sat between my two boys and knew, with all the certainty that I knew the earth would continue spinning long after I was gone, that I am truly blessed.

This is my home. And they will always be here for me.


End file.
